If at First You Don't Succeed
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: "Good Lord. Why can't it ever just be a puppy that follows you home?" Mr. Kaplan shook her head and held out her arms. "Come on, dearie. Give her to me and go get yourself cleaned up." [Post-S1 AU, Lizzington]
1. Chapter 1

AN: In honor of 2x03's lovely dream sequence, I thought I'd try to finish up the first chapter of a fic inspired by a Lizzington dream I had a couple months ago, though my dream was a lot less, uh... exciting and a lot more angsty.

* * *

It was supposed to be a routine meeting. In and out. The targets weren't even particularly dangerous people, just average criminals with connections to bigger fish that were more to Red's taste. But if there was one thing Red had learned in life, one thing Liz was learning, it was that there was no such thing as an easy job. No, Murphy's law was alive and well. And fate, such as it was, had a sick, twisted sense of humor. The fact that it all began on a dark and stormy night was just icing on a cruelly ironic cake.

Liz never liked storms. Even when she was a little girl, she dreaded them; unfortunately, that dread was something she never managed to grow out of. She and Mr. Kaplan were safely ensconced in their latest hideaway, one of Red's cabins off the beaten path somewhere in New England. (Although, off the beaten path was a bit generous—it was in the middle of nowhere.) Liz had been ready to call it quaint until the pitch black rainclouds rolled in and ruined the mood. What had been a hot, sticky day—almost unbearably humid—transformed into a windy, chilly night in the blink of an eye.

Red and Dembe had been gone for hours, much longer than they should have been, by the time the power failed, so Liz's nerves were already frayed. There had been a sense of foreboding weighing down on her since they set out into the storm and losing power only made it worse.

The generator in the old cabin only covered the ground floor. Liz followed Mr. Kaplan around while the other woman set about lighting hurricane lamps and building a fire on the hearth of the big stone fireplace in the living room. It was embarrassing that she felt the need to do it, but Mr. Kaplan didn't seem to mind.

Once the fire could sustain itself, Mr. Kaplan rummaged around in Red's liquor cabinet, pouring two tumblers of his finest Scotch and pressing one of them into Liz's hand.

"I figure he owes us," she said with a shrug. She curled up against the arm of the well-worn sofa and wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders, sipping her drink and soaking up the heat from the fire.

Liz envied Mr. Kaplan's calmness. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax until Red and Dembe returned, or at least until the storm passed. She didn't want to disturb the woman by pacing on the squeaky floorboards; she wandered over to the window and squinted through the rain-streaked glass into the stormy darkness beyond.

Suddenly, in the distance, she could just begin to make out what looked like a pair of headlights. The tightness in her chest eased as they came closer and she recognized Red's car.

The garage door creaked and groaned as it opened, gravel crunched under the car's tires, and somewhere under the roaring wind and the booming thunder, Liz swore she could hear a baby crying. She and Mr. Kaplan rushed to the kitchen to find out what had kept them.

Liz's ears weren't, as she thought at first, playing tricks on her. Dembe stalked through the kitchen door first, obviously agitated. "He insisted on bringing her here."

Red walked in holding a tiny, wailing baby tucked close to his chest.

"Good Lord. Why can't it ever just be a puppy that follows you home?" Mr. Kaplan shook her head and held out her arms. "Come on, dearie. Give her to me and go get yourself cleaned up."

"It's not my blood," Red said, his voice hollow, almost robotic. He didn't move to hand the baby over; Mr. Kaplan had to coax him to let go of her.

"Still needs cleaning," she said, matter-of-fact, as she cradled the baby to her chest.

Red nodded and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom on autopilot. Anxiety spurred Liz to follow him, along with an all-encompassing gnawing in the pit of her stomach that told her he shouldn't be alone.

He didn't close his door completely, which was a bad sign in and of itself. She pushed it open the rest of the way to find him standing in the middle of the room staring off into the distance, looking lost, backlit only by the flashes of lightning coming in through the windows. Red's trench coat dripped onto the carpet, staining it pink with tiny droplets of blood diluted by rain. He had started shaking, a subtle tremble against the chill of his soaked clothing. Liz needed to get him dry and warm and relatively clean, and she needed to do it quickly.

"Do you have a lighter? Or matches?" He didn't answer. "Red?" She touched his forearm to get his attention and he flinched.

"What?"

"I need something to light the candles."

"Oh. Right." He dug around in an inner pocket of his coat and held a small metal lighter out to her. "Here."

The lighter had certainly seen better days, but it still lit on the first click and soon the room flickered with a warm glow in stark contrast to the crisp tension in the air.

She left the lighter on the dresser and steeled herself before reaching for the buttons on his coat. He did nothing to stop her.

His trench coat she tossed into the tub, his suit coat and vest were likely ruined by the blood that had seeped into them, but they weren't nearly as wet; she removed them anyway. Checking his dress shirt and trousers with a few discreet pats, she determined they could stay for the time being, saving them both the awkwardness of her stripping him down to his underthings. Not that he would have argued in the state he was in, or even noticed, really. He let her take off what she already had much too placidly than she would have liked.

While she gathered a washcloth and the old wash bowl from the dresser and filled it with warm, sudsy water, he wandered over to perch at the edge of the bed. She knelt before him and began to gently rinse the caked blood from the short hairs at his temples as he stared, unblinking, at nothing at all. She continued until his face was nearly clean, when suddenly, one of his hands shot out and grabbed her arm. She met his eyes in her surprise and found them wide and almost scared, pupils large in the limited light. His trance had broken and in its place she found only horror.

"They're dead," he said desperately. "They're all dead." He looked stricken, and his grip was just a bit too tight. "I couldn't save them. I tried, but… it was too late. There was so much blood."

She didn't bother to ask who he meant, just pried her arm free and took his hand in hers instead. Her other hand went to cradle his head, fingers rubbing soothingly at the nape of his neck.

"You saved the little girl," she said. "You saved _her_. That's what matters."

His face crumpled at her words; he folded in on himself, curling into the fetal position, his damp head on the pillows. A painful, keening noise escaped him.

She had never seen him like this. Hell, she had never needed to comfort a grown man who was crying inconsolably before. Her dad shed tears here and there, at her graduation and her wedding and sometimes during a sad movie, but never like this. This was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, outside of her own bouts of despair.

Not knowing what else to do, she crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around him, coaxing him to turn over and face her, her own eyes stinging with the beginning of sympathetic tears. She held him as he cried himself hoarse, as he lost his breath and his voice and clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to solid ground. The storm raged outside with an intensity she hoped drowned out his anguish; the only reason she was privy to it was because she'd forced her way into his room and he deserved some privacy, at least.

The candles on the dresser sputtered and died before his sobs finally began to subside. She tugged a couple blankets free from their feet at the foot of the bed and spread them over Red and herself. She rubbed at his back as he drifted off to sleep, his breathing even save for the occasional hitch. She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and finally allowed herself to sleep as well.

Morning would come soon enough, and with it calmer skies. If they were all lucky, it would bring calmer hearts as well.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Liz noticed as she started to wake up was the almost overwhelming intensity of Red's scent. It permeated the cool air around her, was embedded in the pillow beneath her head, felt like it enveloped her completely. All of this should have served as a solid reminder to her groggy mind about just where she was, but somehow when she opened her eyes and found Red watching her, she still couldn't help but jump slightly in surprise.

This wasn't something they did, really. They didn't wake up in bed together. Not often, at least. It had happened before, a few times, but nothing untoward had. Comfort was in short supply on the run, and she had long ago reached the point where she wasn't going to pass it up even if it came from him. She didn't understand why she found him comforting; Lord knows it was the last thing he should be to her, but she couldn't help how she felt and she didn't bother questioning it. The inverse also appeared to be true—he obviously found comfort in her as well—and that, she thought, was all the justification she needed.

The morning sun streaming in through the blinds left streaks of light across his face and his eyes were as green and stormy as the sea. It was the crying, she thought. Her eyes always looked more striking after she cried.

He looked better this morning, more alert, a bit less haunted. He watched her with a quiet fascination that caused her cheeks to warm more every second he held her gaze. Sunlight shone on his long eyelashes and she tamped down the strange urge to brush her lips against the scrape on his cheek, settling instead for a gentle hand on his arm.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

The skin around his eyes crinkled as his lips curved in a faint smile. "I've been worse," he said, his voice still rough from sleep and overuse. The deep timbre of it made her stomach flutter and she swallowed reflexively.

Slowly, he reached up and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry you had to see that last night."

"It doesn't matter," she said; she took his hand and squeezed briefly. "I'm glad you weren't alone."

Liz watched, fascinated, as he brought her hand up to press a trail of tiny, lingering kisses along the length of her scar, stirring even more butterflies in her stomach. _To hell with it_, she thought. _He crossed the line first_.

She leaned forward to press a kiss to the scrape and when she pulled back, his eyebrows had crept up his forehead in surprise. She tried to brush off what she'd done with an amused huff of air and a shy smile, but she found her eyes being drawn to his mouth and his to hers, and her smile faded.

As if pulled by some invisible string, each of them inched forward again in fits and starts, tentative, cautious, until they met in the middle, lips touching for the first time.

There were butterflies, sure, but no fireworks. It wasn't that kind of kiss. It wasn't a kiss to arouse, but a kiss to calm, to reassure, to soothe. Solid, grounding, stabilizing. Intimate, but not a means to an end.

Red entwined his fingers with hers as the kiss tapered off and he pulled away. He gave a heavy, contented sigh and searched her face, his eyes bright.

"Thank you," he said, his voice thick, "for making sure I wasn't alone."

She gave him a half smile and brushed a few flakes of dried blood she missed washing off the night before from the hair above his ear.

"How the hell did you end up with a baby? I didn't realize we were in the kidnapping business."

There went that familiar tic again, under his eye. "She has no living family."

Liz searched his face, taking in the renewed tension and discomfort in his features. Putting it together with his behavior the night before, she could only come to one conclusion.

"Because of you?"

"Not directly," he said, with a small frown. "In a roundabout way, I'm still responsible."

Liz's brows furrowed as she watched him become more antsy and restless by the second. "The blacklister," she said.

Red nodded. "If I could have gotten to him sooner, her parents might have made it. I dragged my feet and they paid the price." He said everything in a rush, as if getting it out quicker would make it hurt less, like pulling off a band-aid.

Suddenly, he threw off the blankets, desperate to untangle himself and climb out of bed. Moving so quickly, however, proved to be a mistake.

"Oh, Jesus, _fuck_."

He grabbed at his shoulder; when he pulled his hand away, his fingers didn't come back clean.

"You said the blood wasn't yours." Her worry had already kicked into overdrive at his unexpected profanity; now she struggled against a panicky, weak feeling that threatened to empty her stomach at the sight of blood she knew belonged to him.

"Apparently I was wrong—adrenaline is a potent thing. Anyway, it wasn't all mine."

"Come with me," she said, tugging on his hand.

"Lizzy, you've done more than enough already. I can deal with it myself."

Liz shook her head, exasperated, and pulled him into the bathroom anyway. "If you try to do it yourself, you're only gonna make it worse."

She closed the lid on the toilet and patted it. Red dawdled, taking his sweet time shutting to door behind him. When he knew she wasn't going to put up with his procrastination any longer, he sat, looking for all the world like he was resigning himself to some grim fate. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes; he could be a hell of a drama queen when he wanted to be, but she figured his ordeal had earned him a free pass or two.

Slowly, carefully, she began to wet the fabric over the wound, hoping to soften the dried blood gently enough to be able to remove the shirt without causing any additional damage. It would probably start bleeding again no matter what she did, but at least the shirt wouldn't rip the scab off violently this way.

Red seemed to be bracing himself under her hands, whether it was from the pain or something else, she couldn't tell. He didn't flinch when she put pressure on the wound, though, and he made no sound at all.

"This'll be a lot less painful if we cut your shirt." She made a move for the first aid kit he kept stashed by the sink, but he closed his hand over hers on his uninjured shoulder, stopping her.

"Lizzy…" His jaw worked awkwardly, but no more words would form. He looked up at her, a pathetic, pleading expression on his face, silently begging her for… something.

They were interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door.

"Raymond? Agent Keen?"

"It's unlocked, Dembe."

"The two of you better be decent."

"When am I ever decent?" Red asked, sounding more like his public persona than he had all morning.

"All right, the two of you better be clothed."

"Well, then you better come in now and protect my virtue from Agent Keen."

Dembe pushed the door open and took in the scene before him, nodding absently before turning his attention to Liz.

"Mr. Kaplan is asking for you. The baby is fussy and she was hoping you'd have better luck calming her." Liz was about to protest, but he cut her off. "You took parenting classes to prepare for the adoption, it's fresher in your mind than it is in any of ours."

"Tell her I'll be with her as soon as I finish with Red."

"Now would be better. She hasn't slept a wink all night." Something in his tone suggested that he hadn't either.

Liz's grip tightened on Red's good shoulder, her thumb pressing into what felt like scar tissue beneath the fabric of his ruined shirt. "But—"

"Go, Lizzy," Red said, an odd urgent edge to his voice. "I'll be fine."

"I'll take care of him, Agent Keen."

Liz swallowed, set her jaw, and, with one last reluctant look at Red, went to see Mr. Kaplan.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Attempting to translate a dream into something with even the barest semblance of coherence freaking _sucks_.

* * *

Liz had never woken to the sound of a baby crying before. As an only child, she had no reason to. It was an incredibly foreign thing to experience all of a sudden, the ear-splitting wail dragging her violently from her peaceful slumber. She barely even managed to raise her groggy head from the pillow before Red pulled back the covers and disentangled their legs with a whispered, "I'll get her."

Liz rolled over to watch Red tend to the little girl, removing her soiled diaper, making sure she was clean and dry with gentle, attentive hands, securing the new diaper carefully so it wasn't too loose or too tight. He seemed to go about it all with such practiced ease. It was light years away from Tom's rather horrific diaper-changing during that ridiculous baby shower game that felt like a lifetime ago. She guessed it was like riding a bicycle.

Afterwards, he cradled the baby against his shoulder, whispering softly into her ear to lull her back to sleep. The edge of a tattoo or a scar peeked out from the sleeve of his t-shirt with the movement, but Liz drifted off again before she could give it any thought. 

* * *

Days passed with no news of Berlin, no mention of any plans to move on from the cabin. They'd never stayed in one place for so long before. It felt like they were in limbo, making no real progress on any front.

Liz was starting to worry. About their safety, sure, but even more so about Red himself. He had commandeered the childcare duties after the first night and he'd taken to his new role with an enthusiasm the likes of which she had rarely seen. She had begun to dread the day they would have to give the baby up. She couldn't imagine he would take it well. And the longer he cared for her, the harder it would be.

She took a sip from her mug absently and grimaced; her coffee was ice cold. She ran her hands over her face and let out a frustrated whisper-scream, trying to rid herself of the odd discomfit that had settled into her gut. Dembe and Mr. Kaplan exchanged glances over their own coffee mugs. Liz willed herself not to blush; she hadn't realized she wasn't alone. Just how long had she been lost in thought?

"Are you all right?" Dembe asked gently.

Liz shook her head. "Why are we still here? Did the plans for the baby fall through?"

Mr. Kaplan sighed, gathering her mug and the morning paper before she stood and headed for the porch. "Dembe, I'm sorry, I have to stay out of this or I'll give myself a migraine."

Liz watched her go, nonplussed; she turned back to Dembe. "What's going on?"

"You should talk to Raymond." 

* * *

Liz found Red in the bedroom with the baby cradled against his shoulder, a common occurrence as of late. He hummed as he caressed her tiny back, helping her drift off to sleep. Carefully, he lowered her into the crib he had Dembe set up earlier that week. Liz observed the private moment with a familiar tightness growing in her chest, the sharp pang she used to feel whenever she saw young families going for walks in the park. She was more than well acquainted with the feeling—longing, tinged with jealousy. It twisted in her gut now and _hurt_.

She knew she was being presumptuous, coming in here to say what she was going to say. His decision didn't really have anything to do with her, but buried somewhere deep in her subconscious was the inexplicable idea that it _should_, that this was a decision they should be making together. It was irrational. They weren't lovers. They were barely even friends. She had no claim to him or his choices.

"Dembe told me you haven't started making arrangements for the baby yet," she said quietly, watching him while he watched the little girl sleep. He gave no indication that he heard her until she stepped right up next to him. He offered her an awkward half smile, but still said nothing.

"You can't keep her, Red, you know you can't keep her. This life… it's no life for a child. Are you really willing to put everything aside to raise a little girl?"

"It wouldn't be the first time someone made that kind of choice."

Sam. He was talking about Sam. In that moment, she hated him, just a little. How dare he bring up her father at a time like this, to use his example to sway her feelings? Especially when he had Sam's blood on his hands.

"That's different. The circumstances were different."

"No. No, they weren't." What was he talking about? She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but he spoke again. "I can't keep doing this forever, Lizzy. I have to start thinking about what I want for the future."

Liz remembered how efficiently he had cut to the root of her own desire for a child the day they met, how much it had stung, how it put a magnifying glass over her doubts and insecurities. "And being a father again, that's something you see for yourself? It won't make up for—"

"Of course it won't," he snapped, cutting her off. The baby stirred and he soothed her, a gentle hand at her back. "But maybe I can have a second chance for this, too," he said, his voice wistful.

How could she argue with that, really? Tell him he didn't deserve a chance at happiness, at some semblance of a normal life? His self-loathing was bad enough without her help. And did she really believe he didn't deserve a second chance or was she upset because it didn't involve her? Wasn't a normal life all she ever really wanted?

"We don't have our answers yet," she said, plaintive. It was the only tack she could think of and it did seem to take him aback somewhat, but eventually he just shook his head and turned his mournful eyes on her.

"Maybe it doesn't matter," he whispered. "After all, I've waited this long. And maybe when she's old enough to take care of herself, I can risk searching again."

Liz's heart ached. She wanted to resent him for this. Wanted to, but couldn't. He'd been in this fight a lot longer than she had and the more time she spent with him while he had his public mask off, the more she realized just how world-weary he was.

"She'll never really be old enough to handle losing her father."

Once the sentence left her mouth, she knew it was a mistake. The look he gave her pierced her soul. His eyes shuttered and he all but ran for the door. She caught up to him in the hallway.

"Red, wait! I didn't mean it that way. Honestly. It didn't even cross my mind when I said it. That's a good thing, right? That I can separate you from what happened now?" She framed his face with her hands and tilted his head until his eyes would be level with hers, if only he would open them. "Hey. Come on. Look at me."

At long last, he did as she asked; she almost wished he hadn't. His emotions were still raw in a way she'd never seen. He seemed so… fragile. That was never a word she would associate with him before this week.

"I don't understand what's going on with you. This all just seems so drastic, so sudden. I know it's none of my business, but I wish you would explain where it's coming from."

"It's not as sudden as you think it is. I had a scare once. A few years after everything went to hell. I'd taken a lover, and she thought she was…" He trailed off and shook his head, staring past her at the ceiling, remembering. "I seriously considered giving everything up and retiring. Leaving my growing client list behind, cashing in my chips and finding some remote place to raise the baby. To start over. Obviously it didn't happen.

"This isn't the life I planned for myself. I just want a chance to get back some of what I've lost."

"It's not like you to bail on something this way."

"Your perspective is skewed, Lizzy," he said. "I've bailed on plenty of people and responsibilities in my life. Just… not you." When he finished speaking, his voice was barely above a whisper, his expression pitiful and haunted. There was apparently a first time for everything, then. Liz could feel her heart breaking and she didn't realize it hadn't already been shattered beyond repair.

"I'm sorry, Red, but I just can't wrap my mind around this. I'm having a hard time imagining what my life will be like if you suddenly cease to exist in it." His brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand, cutting him off. "Please, just let me get this out. I can't look at my life for the foreseeable future and not see you there. I can barely even see tomorrow, let alone the next twenty years. It's selfish of me, I realize that, but I don't want you to go."

"Lizzy—"

She pulled him to her, sealing her plea with a desperate kiss, her gut a swirling pit of guilt and shame at trying to persuade him that way.

He broke the kiss slowly, combing her hair back from her face with his fingers. "I'm not going to disappear on you, Lizzy. I'm certainly not asking you to leave."

"Then what the hell are you doing?"

Carefully, he lead her to another bedroom, the one she'd used the first night in the cabin before she started sharing his, and pulled the door shut behind them. He ushered her to the couch under the window and sat next to her, his fingers tapping a restless pattern on his thigh as he tried to find the words to explain himself.

"I thought… I thought maybe you'd like to come with me. You've always wanted to adopt…"

Liz recoiled and pressed herself back into the cushions, away from him. She couldn't believe her ears. Was he seriously asking her to…?

"You thought adopting was a terrible idea," she hissed, eyes wide, her offended disbelief coloring her tone, making her words harsh, cutting. "You discouraged me every step of the way."

He shook his head, leaning towards her in his earnestness. "It _was_ a terrible idea—it was terrible because of Tom, not because of you. You… you would make a wonderful mother. And you deserve to have a chance to be, if that's what you want. This could be an opportunity for that, couldn't it?"

"This is insane, Red. Can you see that? A year ago I knew nothing about you except that you were a wanted criminal and now you're, what? You're asking me to raise a child with you? We're not even… What the hell are we to each other?"

"Well, that depends, Lizzy. What do you want us to be? Because I know what I'd like and if we're on the same page, I don't see why we shouldn't at least try."

What did she want? She really had no clue. And what he wanted? He wanted her to be the mother of his _child_. He wanted them to be parents. Together. Likely with all it usually entailed. That was the implication, at least. He certainly wasn't doing anything to disabuse her of it.

It was just… crazy.

Impulsive.

Ill-advised.

_Tempting_.

When she didn't say no right away, he shifted off the couch onto the floor, on his knees before her yet again, and took her hand in both of his.

"We already know that we make a great team. If I do this thing, I'd rather not do it alone. I always did have better luck building a surrogate family than I ever did with my natural one."

Liz eyed him warily, taking in all the nervous anticipation, all the cautious hope in his expression. She knew what the wise decision would be, what choice she _should_ make, but she just couldn't bring herself to make it. So many of her hopes and dreams had been dashed in the last year, so much had been taken from her, that the opportunity to do something purely selfish—something just for her that had nothing to do with expectations or her job or national security—was just too enticing to pass up easily.

"I can't believe I'm even contemplating this."

Red's face broke out in a brilliant smile. He knelt up and brought his lips to hers in a kiss that felt more like a promise, an oath, than her own marriage vows had felt.


	4. Chapter 4

Liz knew Red was watching her. She felt his warm gaze at her back, heard the old floorboards creak under his feet when he came to stand in the doorway. She continued dressing the baby like she hadn't noticed him there, letting him have his few quiet moments of observation.

Lately, he often needed to compose or prepare himself before he spoke. She could understand that. They'd been through so much trauma and upheaval in the months since he came into her life, she was surprised either of them was able to do anything more than just slog their way through the day. They really hadn't had the time to decompress and process everything that had happened.

They'd spent the night before poring over possible identities and aliases for herself, the baby, and Red, ready to be stitched together to form a backstory for them all. The relationships were all very flexible, waiting to be settled later; the only common denominator across every possibility was the baby's name—Kate.

(They hadn't told Mr. Kaplan yet. She might very well kill them for it.)

Liz felt like she did as a kid, staying up all night planning her future with her first boyfriend. Hopeful enough and pleasant enough, but somehow it still didn't seem quite real.

It all felt like such a reckless course of action—reckless and risky and selfish—but at the same time, it also felt so… right. And, oh, how badly she wanted it!

Why was that? She barely even knew this man and still she was planning on building a life and a home and a family with him.

But, then again, why was that the sticking point, the thing she had the most trouble wrapping her mind around? She had already crossed so many lines she never dreamt she would cross at Red's side. She'd shot her own husband and watched him bleed out in front of her. She'd left her career in the lurch to hunt down his enemy with him. She'd even begun to forgive him for killing Sam.

If she could forgive Red _that_ of all things, well… Liz thought there really might be something worth exploring between them.

The main question now was _how_.

This was a complex situation for the both of them, but it was even more complex for Red than he let on. He lost his first family to a tragedy that he no doubt blamed himself for, and lost his chance for a second before it even began. She felt pangs when she watched him taking care of the baby, but they probably paled in comparison to the emotions stirred in his gut when he watched her.

If losing even the potential for a family hurt her so badly, she couldn't fathom what it might feel like to lose the concrete, fully-formed reality of it. It was horrific to contemplate. It made her want to hold on to this little girl and never let go.

When Liz finally finished what she was doing, she turned to find Red leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed loosely in front of him—not exactly his usual open, confident body language, which had been conspicuously absent since the night of the storm. She beckoned him closer.

Wiping suspiciously at his eyes, he approached her and the baby, and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of the baby's head; he made fleeting eye contact with Liz before he brushed his lips against her temple as well. She leaned into him, prolonging the moment. His warm hand felt grounding at the small of her back.

"Dembe's ready to take her now," he said, softly. She nodded.

Handing the baby off to Dembe proved much more difficult than Liz could have imagined. She knew it was only temporary, hardly more than a day without her, but it didn't matter. It barely took any time at all to get attached once she allowed herself to start considering the baby hers.

In the garage, Mr. Kaplan wished her and Red a gruff good luck before taking her place behind the wheel and buckling her seatbelt. By Sunday, they would all meet up again, hopefully with a decision and a concrete plan mapped out. Maybe then this would feel like more than a pipe dream.

The rumble of the car faded into the distance, and Liz and Red exchanged a glance.

They were alone.

"We're really gonna do this, aren't we?" she asked.

"I think we are." He rubbed his hands anxiously on his trousers. "Are you hungry? I can make us a quick lunch."

"Not particularly, no."

"I can make us a slow lunch, then," he said quickly, awash with nervous energy. "By the time it's finished, maybe you'll be—"

"Red." A touch on his forearm stopped him before he could bound off towards the kitchen without her; she slid her hand down his wrist to entwine their fingers. "Relax. It's just me. It's just… us."

"I'm not sure we've ever been 'just' anything," he said, his voice low and slightly rough with emotion; he gave her hand a squeeze for emphasis.

"No. I guess we haven't, have we?"

He shook his head and took a step towards her; his closeness and warmth raised all of the fine hairs on her body. This close she could just barely see the pulse beating at his neck under the tiny scar she'd given him. His heart was racing, just as much as hers was. She lifted her free hand and rested it at the base of his neck, her fingers curled around the back of it. Another step and their bodies pressed close enough for him to wrap his arm around her waist and hold her to him. He tucked his head next to hers and breathed her in.

They'd been by themselves for less than five minutes. The next couple days would be… interesting.

"You any closer to a decision?" he asked, quietly.

Liz sighed. She certainly wasn't. The files were still spread out across the kitchen table from their brainstorming session the night before.

"Red, I can barely even decide what I want for dinner most of the time."

"Do you want to go over the options again together? I'm especially fond of the husband and wife crime novelists."

"You realize I killed my last husband, right? Black widow crime novelist sounds like someone off your list."

"I don't know… I think I'd take my chances." Liz breathed a laugh into the crook of his neck and pressed her mouth there; his hum of pleasure vibrated through the flesh under her lips.

Red wanted to be her husband. It was flattering, to say the least. Red, a man who'd seen her at her worst, had witnessed her vulnerability and her rage in equal measures. He bore the brunt of the latter quite often, both deserved and undeserved, yet here he was, returning her attentions by leaving a trail of his own lingering kisses along her neck.

"This isn't helping us make our decision," she said, angling her head to give him more room.

He chuckled against her skin. "True, true."

"God, we're such a mess."

Red craned his head back to meet her eyes. "You think?" He tugged at her hand. "Come on. We can't think on an empty stomach. Let's see what Dembe left us with."

"I told you I wasn't hungry."

He shrugged. "We'll have to eat sooner or later, regardless. Besides, it'll keep us from getting… distracted. There are some things we should discuss before we…" He tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear, watching his own hand as he did so, his fingers ghosting over her cheek. "Before," he concluded and offered her a lip-quirking smirk.

Liz smirked back. At the rate they were going, it was more than likely that their strictly platonic bed-sharing would be a thing of the past before the week was out. She was glad that was as obvious and inevitable to Red as it was to her.

She wondered absently how long it would've taken them to reach this point under different circumstances. Would she be this comfortable with Red if she hadn't lived with him, if she hadn't fought alongside him, if she hadn't killed Tom? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. The closeness meant too much to her now to imagine not having it.

Even this, standing next to him and peering into the fridge felt like something special, something precious. Something rare, to be savored.

"Wait. Is that a seven bone roast?"

Red blinked up at her with his brows furrowed, a largish package of meat held loosely in his hand. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Here, let me see that." Liz took it from him and maneuvered him out of the way so she could rummage around for more ingredients. "Sam said it was the perfect piece of meat for his world famous pot roast."

"And you know how to make said pot roast? You _want_ to make said pot roast?"

"Hey, don't sound so surprised. I know cooking's not my strong suit, but believe me, I've got this."

"OK. I'll take your word for it." Red still sounded dubious. He made himself busy by opening a bottle of wine and pouring them each a glass, while she dumped her supplies on the counter and went to work—prepping the meat, chopping onions, crushing garlic.

Sliding her glass over so it sat just outside the range of the carnage, Red sidled around to Liz's other side and leaned against the counter with deliberate nonchalance. He stole fleeting glances at her out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his wine, all the while pretending that he wasn't looking at her at all. He gave himself away easily, with not-so-subtle winces whenever she made a clumsy move with her knife.

"Red."

"Hmm?"

"You're hovering."

"I wouldn't call it hovering, I'd call it… monitoring the situation."

"I'd call it backseat cooking. Go chop the carrots if you can't handle being left out." He let out a long-suffering sigh. She watched him grab a second cutting board and knife, and poke around in the utensil drawer in search of a vegetable peeler. "You really don't like not being in control, do you?"

"I never feel like I'm in control when it comes to you," he said, making quick and efficient work of the carrots. "For the record, I don't consider that a bad thing. It usually takes copious amounts of alcohol or drugs for me to let go of myself that way, but with you, it comes naturally."

"So you're saying I'm what? Like an addiction for you?"

"Not an addiction, no." He paused to take a sip of his wine. "You remind me there's good out there somewhere, that not everyone is as cynical and world-weary as I am when I'm alone. You remind me there's more to life than being stuck inside my own worldview all the time. Even more than that, you remind me that there might still be some part of myself worth salvaging."

"Even when I'm being stubborn and argumentative?"

"Especially then," he said, with a sincere but amused smile. "I love that you won't let me get away with anything."

Liz chuckled. "Well, that's a first."

He picked up a piece of carrot and munched absently on it.

"How about you, Lizzy? Why do you want to do this with me? It's certainly not a requirement. I could set you and the baby up somewhere safe, provide you with everything you could ever need. Your options would be open. You could find someone someday if you wanted. Or raise her as a single parent, if you didn't."

"Like Sam did for me."

"Yes. Saddling yourself with me isn't your only choice."

"That's not fair, Red. To you or to me. You're the one who wanted to raise this baby. You didn't want to do it alone and neither do I."

"I could easily be the next door neighbor, or an old friend of the family…"

Liz shook her head. All she'd ever wanted was a home and a child and a husband who cared about her. She wanted the stability that came with a normal life. She had thought that dream was dead, or at least so far in the future she could barely even see it twinkling on the horizon. But here it was, so close she could reach out and touch it. If it was what Red wanted, too, then they had something truly fundamental in common. Something they could build on. She wasn't going to throw that opportunity away just because it might look more difficult on the surface.

"When I told you I can't see my future without you, I meant it, and I think you know _how_ I meant it—it certainly wasn't as eccentric Uncle Raymond who'll talk your ear off if you ever hit the baseball over the fence into his yard." She dumped the chopped onions into the pot and turned to wash her hands. "Why are you giving me an out here? Are you worried this isn't going to work?"

"I'm worried that maybe you'll come to regret whatever decision you reach and you'll end up resenting me for it. I don't know if I could…" He trailed off when she came to lean against the counter next to him, close enough that they would press against each other if either of them moved just so. He seemed distracted by her closeness; she watched his Adam's apple move in his throat as he swallowed. "I've already caused you so much heartache, Lizzy. I don't want to cause any more."

"Why?"

Red tilted his head to one side and regarded her silently, his eyes tight with concern, with pain. "I can't decide if you'd ask me that because you think so poorly of me that you believe I enjoy seeing you suffer or—"

"No, I didn't mean…" She shook her head again. "Why me? Why do you care so much about me? Why do you go out of your way to make me feel like I deserve to be happy?"

"Why do you feel like you don't?"

Liz flinched, taken aback. "I-I don't feel I don't deserve it, it's just… it never sticks. Everything good ends, everyone leaves. My whole life it's been true. Even Sam and Tom are gone, though that was partially your fault and partially mine. I have no one left but you and I can't help worrying that someday you'll finally get whatever it is you wanted from me in the first place and you'll leave, too. Either that or I'll scare you away."

"Scare me away?" Red looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry; he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed his lips to her temple, fierce and heartfelt. "You could never scare me away. You realize who you're talking to, right? You're too important to me. _You_, Lizzy. Not whatever started us down this path."

"What started us down this path, Red?"

He sighed, chewing on the inside of his lip. "I made a terrible choice," he said, haltingly. "A series of them, really—each worse than the last. Then, finally, I had a chance to make a good one, and I took it. It's the only decision I've never regretted."

"_I'm_ the only decision you've never regretted."

"Yeah," he said, and he watched her with such a fond expression on his face that her chest started to ache.

"Even now. Even after everything." He nodded. "I just don't see how—"

"For the love of God, Lizzy, is it really so hard to believe that I might love you?"

Silence fell like a stage curtain between them. Or was it truly silent? Liz's heart pounded too loudly in her ears for her to tell.

Love? Red loved her? He _loved_ her?

When she found her voice again, she asked, "If I told you I loved you, would _you_ believe _me_?"

Red looked wrong-footed for a very long time, trying to parse through her question, to decide if it was only hypothetical or if there was more to it than that. "I'd be the luckiest man in the world if that were true."

"See? You don't believe me."

"You didn't actually say—"

"I love you," she blurted. "I shouldn't, should I? We shouldn't love each other."

"I… I didn't say that." He searched her face, looking for any sign that she wasn't being serious. "You love me?" he repeated, his voice light and hopeful and, dare she say it… _innocent_. He couldn't keep the smile off his face despite his astonishment, and she wanted nothing more than to take that smiling face into her hands and show him just how much she meant it.

"I do. I love you. You like the sound of that, don't you?"

"It's the best thing I've ever heard. Hell, I'd like to scrawl it on a wall somewhere. 'Lizzy loves Red.' I just don't understand _why_ you would—"

"It's not so fun when the shoe is on the other foot, huh?" She scrunched her face, feeling invigorated but slightly embarrassed at her admission. "Are you actually looking for reasons?"

"Would you mind?" he asked, sheepish. "A few might help me wrap my mind around it."

"God, we really are a mess. OK. I love your voice, I love listening to your stories. I worry about you when you're gone, I don't sleep well when I don't know you're safe. _I_ feel safe when I'm with you, as crazy as that sounds; I've never slept better than I do when you're next to me. Like I said, I can't see my life without you in it. I don't know when exactly we crossed that line, but we're here now. I mean, I want to raise a baby with you, for crying out loud. Isn't that love?"

"It could be," he said, still quite obviously a bit in awe.

"You're right. It could be, we just haven't given ourselves enough of a chance yet to find out. I don't want to lock ourselves down to something else without even trying. What's the worst that could happen? People break up all the time."

"It's a sign of the sad state of our lives that we're talking about breaking up before we're even together in the first place."

"Why should we only do this if we're a hundred percent sure? Who the hell is ever a hundred percent sure?"

"It's not even that I think we won't work, it's that I think it's too _good_ to be true. My life has rarely been kind enough to me to allow me to even entertain the possibility of something as good as this. Let alone with you. You might find it just as difficult to grasp as I do, Lizzy, but believe me when I tell you if this works out it would be a dream come true. You've captured my heart. I love all of you—your complexity, your strength, your flaws, your stubbornness, your compassion. I love you _because_ you're you. I can't think of anyone I'd rather raise a child with."

* * *

AN: Fair warning, the rating will change next chapter, so adjust your filters accordingly. (Also, I snuck in a She Loves Me reference in this chapter, because darn it if I ever pass up an opportunity to do that.)


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